“...and you'd best not see that good fer nuthin' Cranshaw boy agin. Yeh know I'm a feuding wit' the Cranshaws, dagnabit!”

~ Curmudgeon on Dating

Jeremiah is against neighbors. Accounts vary, but sometime in 1941 he took out a homestead on a plot of land far from the city[2]. Over the next sixty-plus years, the city expanded.

The city eventually caught up with Jeremiah. Suddenly (the Curmudgeon considers sixty years to be suddenly) he was no longer allowed to shoot the "varmits" that crossed, landed on, or crawled under, his property. Suddenly he was supposed to pay the various taxes that folks from the city, in cheap suits (also from the city), insisted that he pay. Suddenly, in fact, his lawn was actually supposed to contain grass.

With the city came neighbors. If there's one thing the Curmudgeon is against, it's neighbors.

Neighbors, you see, meant that Jeremiah had to look at people. He's against people, particularly the kind that he has to look at.

As Jeremiah sees it, he's been squatting on his land for long enough that people should know by now not to walk on it.

Playing on it, or even playing near it, is not to be done. If a ball lands in his yard, that ball is his. Finders-keepers, as it were. It's rumored that Jeremiah has a garbage can full of balls of all types (soccer, base, tennis and foot) hidden in his basement, all of which had the misfortune of landing in his yard.

“Kids? Pah! Had me a brood of em, back in the day. Never did no one no good no how! Gran-kids are even worse...could-nuh even write up this here made up page on Uncycleepedia real proper 'n' good-like, by cracky!”